


You And Me (Baby Makes Three)

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Derek Hale is Good With Kids, Getting Together, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 19:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: Pulling out his phone, Stiles said, “I’m sure dad’ll be thrilled to be woken up at two in the morning for an off the books amber alert, but he’ll suck it up.”He’d only taken a few steps away before Derek said his name. Stiles turned back to see one of those little grabbing hands reaching out for him. Her eyes were brown, apparently, when they weren’t glowing, and they were wide and wet and looking up at him beseechingly from Derek’s arms, and Stiles couldn’t walk away from that.“Oh, jeez.”He was so screwed.





	You And Me (Baby Makes Three)

**Author's Note:**

> someday i will keep track of my deadlines properly and _not_ get caught up in last minute panic, but sadly that is not this day, so this fic was finished at 2am last night and has not been beta read, but ya know what, that's fine cuz it's Sterek and babies so honestly i couldn't go wrong XD

Stiles would never get over how _ loud _ gun fights were. How the various were-creatures could stand it with their enhanced hearing, he would never understand, because his plain old human ears were ringing and he wasn’t even in the thick of it.

He’d _ tried _ to be, of course, but apparently a direct confrontation with a hostile group of werewolves wasn’t the best place for someone without claws and healing powers. After a reasonable amount of argument, even Stiles had had to agree with that. So here he was outside the empty warehouse-cum-battlefield, the crossbow Allison was training him with in his hands, keeping the jeep running in case the others got overwhelmed and needed to make a quick getaway.

He hadn’t heard any familiar screams yet—plenty of unfamiliar screams, which was fine and even a little encouraging—so he had to assume that things were going well. That didn’t stop him from jumping at shadows. Or from checking his phone every two minutes to make sure he hadn’t missed a desperate mayday text or something.

He was just refreshing his messages for the seventh time when a different kind of scream rang out: high-pitched and piercing and almost certainly not made by an adult throat. Stiles barely had time to question it before someone was stumbling out of the warehouse door.

Derek had blood all along his side, the torn material of his shirt sticking to the gashes there, and Stiles abandoned his post without a second thought. At first, in the dark, it looked like he was clutching at his stomach to hide more wounds, but when Stiles was close enough to reach out and steady him, he couldn’t see any more injuries. What he _ could _ see was a pair of tiny, bright yellow eyes.

Before he could say anything, Stiles found himself with an armful of toddler.

“Take her,” Derek panted. “Keep her out here. Keep her safe.” And then he was staggering back into the fray.

Stiles stared after him until the squirming of the child in his arms became too much to ignore. She nearly squirmed her way right _ out _ of his arms and it wasn’t until Stiles tried to jostle her back into place that he realized she was reaching out, grabby hands toward the warehouse door where Derek had disappeared. Her eyes were still glowing—itty bitty beta werewolf, oh boy, as if regular babies weren’t already terrifying enough—and she was making the most pitiful whimpering noises.

Stiles shushed her. It was not easy to keep hold of her and his crossbow at the same time, but he managed to get a hand on the back of her head, stroking over her matted hair in what he hoped was a soothing way. That was what you were supposed to do with kids, right? He thought he remembered something about rocking. Or maybe it was bouncing.

“Shh, sweetie, it’s okay,” he said, giving the bouncing a try no matter how awkward it felt. “He’ll be back soon, alright? You’re gonna be fine. Everything’s gonna be fine. I promise.”

With another whimper, the toddler buried her grimy little face in Stiles’ shoulder. Her tiny arms wound around his neck and held on for dear life.

Stiles tightened his hold on her in return, casting another look toward the dark door and the sounds of the ongoing battle, and really hoped he was right.

* * *

Everyone _ was _ fine, for a given value of the word. Admittedly, Stiles’ concept of “fine” had shifted significantly since werewolves had come into his life, but nobody was so badly injured that they wouldn’t recover from it. Scott had a few broken bones, but those would be back to rights in an hour or two. Derek and Isaac had both been slashed up pretty bad but were well on their way to healed already. Allison was probably the worst off, since her human ribs would actually take the full six to eight weeks to stop being broken.

When they all came trooping out of the warehouse a few minutes after all the noise stopped, leaning heavily on each other, Stiles wanted to run up and hug the stuffing out of all of them at once. He _ would _ have, but his arms were kind of occupied. And _ tired. _ The kid had fallen asleep after twenty solid minutes of crying and, unfortunately, his attempts to lay her down in the back seat of the jeep had only succeeded in waking her back up and triggering another round of tears.

Stiles waited until the others had reached him, Isaac collapsing with pained grunts into the backseat and Allison being led off toward the black SUV down the street by her dad, before he said, “Glad you’re alive, guys. Hey, Derek, who the fuck’s kid is this and why do I have her?”

Derek nudged a very confused-looking Scott out of the way so he could get close enough to lay a hand on the little girl’s back. Some of the tightness in his shoulders eased at the contact and he let his hand fall back to his own healing side.

“Hostage,” he said. “We’re not the first pack they’ve attacked, remember? They must have grabbed her from one of the other territories and held her for ransom, tried to use her as leverage to get what they wanted from her pack.”

“Jeez,” Scott said, looking a little green. “Does that kind of thing happen a lot in territory disputes?”

“It’s not common,” Derek told him. “But it’s not unheard of either.”

“Okay, well, what do we do with her now?” Stiles cut in. “Because, frankly, this kid is _ heavy _and my arms are about to fall off.”

From inside the jeep, there came a snort immediately followed by another of those pained noises. If he’d had a free hand, Stiles would’ve flipped Isaac off, but now he had to settle for throwing some mocking laughter back over his shoulder at the guy. Scott only shook his head at them and reached out to take the little girl. He’d just succeeded in lifting her free of Stiles’ grip when her eyes blinked blearily open.

She _ screamed. _ Her wailing echoed around the empty parking lot and the werewolves all flinched away from it like it was a new round of gunfire. Little arms and legs flailed, careening through the air, managing a few pretty solid hits to Scott’s arms if the way he yelped was any indication.

Before she could do any damage, Derek snatched her out of Scott’s hold and pulled her close against his chest. The crying and thrashing stopped the second she caught a whiff of his scent, and she latched onto Derek’s neck like she had to Stiles’.

Scott stared at the now quiet child in consternation. “What did I _ do?_”

“You didn’t do anything.” Derek shifted the kid over in his arms, toward his less damaged side. “She just doesn’t know you.”

“She doesn’t know you either!”

“She knows I’m the one who saved her from the bad people. She recognizes my scent.”

“Well, what about Stiles? She didn’t cry for Stiles.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Scott. She went from danger, to me, to Stiles pretty fast. She must have accepted us both as safe places.”

Stiles almost wanted to laugh at how put out Scott looked. It was warranted, though. Of the two of them, Scott was definitely the baby whisperer. Stiles couldn’t count the number of times Scott had shown up at the hospital during his mom’s shift just so he could swing by the maternity ward and coo at the babies through the window, and all the new moms would coo at _ him _ and let him hold their newborns. He’d ended up babysitting for at least four of them.

Stiles, on the other hand, had been expressly forbidden from holding the babies until he was fifteen for fear that he would drop them. And he had been just fine with that! Babies were loud and smelly and worryingly delicate. He was happy to let Scott do the babysitting; he’d made his money mowing lawns as a preteen. Can’t drop a lawnmower.

“Who cares if she likes you?” Isaac asked. “We have to give her back anyway.”

That got Scott back on task real quick. “Right. Stiles, we should call your dad, and I’ll call Deaton. Between the two of them, we should be able to track down her family.” He turned to Derek. “If she’s a werewolf caught up in a werewolf mess, calling the police probably wouldn’t have been her parents’ first instinct, would it?”

Derek shook his head. “It would be dangerous for a kid who’s already showing signs to be taken into custody by humans. For her _ and _ the human foster family.”

Pulling out his phone, Stiles said, “I’m sure dad’ll be thrilled to be woken up at two in the morning for an off the books amber alert, but he’ll suck it up.”

He’d only taken a few steps away before Derek said his name. Stiles turned back to see one of those little grabbing hands reaching out for _ him. _ Her eyes were brown, apparently, when they weren’t glowing, and they were wide and wet and looking up at him beseechingly from Derek’s arms, and Stiles couldn’t walk away from _ that. _

“Oh, jeez.”

He was so screwed.

* * *

As predicted, the Sheriff was not pleased. He could’ve handled either being woken up in the middle of the night _ or _ keeping a stolen child out of the proper legal channels, but both together left him pretty snappish.

It didn’t help that Baby—they still didn’t have a name for her, and no matter how often Derek pointed out that she was at least two years old and therefore firmly into “toddler” territory, Stiles’ brain had dubbed her thusly and there was no shaking it now—wouldn’t let him get near her. She had stayed quiet on the drive over, apparently content in Derek’s lap with his scent all around her, but the second Derek had tried to let the Sheriff get a closer look at her for identifying marks, she’d started crying again. Loudly.

The only people she would accept were Derek and Stiles. So now that Derek’s expertise on interpack dynamics and the nature of packs’ relation with human law enforcement was needed, Stiles was left with the kid.

He had no fucking idea what to do with a kid.

Luckily, this seemed to be a quiet one, when she wasn’t screaming her head off. Though, it occurred to him a little belatedly, that might just be the trauma. Maybe under normal circumstances, she would be running through the house and making a mess and babbling a mile a minute. A kid this age should probably be able to talk, at least enough to give them a _ name, _ but she hadn’t so much as attempted speech this whole time. Maybe it was just because she’d been kidnapped and menaced and treated who knew how badly that she was curled into a tight ball on his lap, one hand fisted into his shirt like she was scared to let go.

At a loss, Stiles just patted her back and strained his ears to listen in on his dad, Derek, and Deaton in the kitchen. It sounded like they were calling around to whatever local and local-adjacent packs they had contact information for, trying to figure out where the girl had been taken from.

Stiles tried not to think about what would happen if her pack had been one of the less lucky ones. If her parents hadn’t made it out the other side of the conflict. What the hell would they do with her then?

Baby shifted on Stiles’ lap, her little nose twitching. It scrunched up like maybe she was smelling something. Then her whole face screwed up in what Stiles was quickly learning to recognize as oncoming tears.

Swallowing back a curse, Stiles scooped her up and made for the kitchen. All three men were on the phone when he peeked through the door, but Baby was making hiccupy pre-crying sounds and Stiles did not know how to handle that, so he cleared his throat anyway.

“What is it, kiddo?” his dad asked, sounding every bit as tired as he should at three in the morning.

Grimacing, Stiles hitched a red-faced Baby a little higher in his arms, helplessly showcasing her displeasure. Her feet kicked in the air, almost catching Stiles in the stomach, and her unhappy noises ratcheted up another notch.

Derek murmured, “Just let me know,” into his cell and hung up the call. “Give her here. She’s probably hungry.”

“Hungry,” Stiles repeated because, yes, of course, that probably should’ve been obvious. What kind of self-respecting kidnapper would keep their captives well fed? She probably hadn’t eaten in ages. God, they should’ve fed the kid first thing.

Stiles passed her off with immense gratitude and Derek hefted her onto his shoulder in one easy motion. He looped one arm under her butt to hold her up, his other hand coming up automatically to brace her back, and he leaned his cheek against her temple in what was _ almost _ a nuzzle. Whatever it was, she seemed to like it. She nuzzled right back, whimpers quieting before he’d even gotten to the cabinets.

In under a minute, Derek had fished out graham crackers and applesauce Stiles hadn’t even known they’d _ had _ and was leaned up against the counter with Baby braced against his hip, literally eating out of his hand. When she accepted the offered spoonful he offered her, Derek smiled. It was soft and sweet and encouraging and unlike anything Stiles had ever seen on Derek’s face before.

“I’m gonna go, uh…” Stiles thumbed over his shoulder. It wasn’t until everybody turned to look at him at once that he realized he probably could’ve just left without calling attention to himself, but now he had to actually come up with a _ reason. _ “…make up the guest room! For Baby. She’s probably not going anywhere tonight, so I’ll just…yeah.”

He didn’t wait for anyone to tell him if he should or shouldn’t do that—was Baby too small to sleep in a real bed? Kids usually had little kid-sized beds. Stiles’ had been shaped like a race car because he was cool—because the guest room was all they had anyway. He was pretty sure no one was jumping to make a run to walmart at 4am to buy their temporary guest a size-appropriate bed, so obviously the guest bed needed making.

Okay, he was pretty sure it was already made and hadn’t been unmade at any point in the last several years, but it could probably use airing out or something. Anything to get him away from the sight of Derek with a _ kid. _ It was doing weird things to his brain that he did not appreciate. His dumb crush was finally under control and he would _ not _ fall back into the trap of loving someone who didn’t love him back just because said someone looked distressingly soft and sweet when holding a little girl.

Derek and Baby could be cute together all they wanted. Stiles would just keep his distance from now on, for the sake of his mental and emotional well-being.

* * *

The “keeping his distance” plan didn’t work out so well.

He tried, honestly he did. He’d spent a few minutes shaking the duvet out the guest room window to get the dust off, made and turned down the bed as neatly as he knew how, and showed Derek how to get the finicky bedside lamp to turn on and off when he’d come upstairs with Baby dozing against his shoulder. Then he’d intended to go next door to his own bedroom and pass out for a minimum of ten hours, school be damned.

But apparently Baby had other ideas, and those ideas did not involve Stiles leaving the room. The second he got a hand on the doorknob, she wriggled around in Derek’s arms to reach out for him, making those needy little whining noises.

Derek shushed her, doing the bouncy thing that Stiles had tried earlier that night so at least Stiles had been right about that. It worked a little, until Derek made the grave mistake of trying to put her down on the bed.

Stiles was suddenly very glad that Scott and the other were-creatures had gone home hours ago because Baby’s wailing would have woken them all up and also maybe punctured their eardrums. Derek certainly looked like he was in pain, face twisted up in a grimace, but he immediately picked Baby up again and hugged her close.

She didn’t stop crying, though, and the look of helpless panic on Derek’s face had Stiles’ feet moving before he even considered why. All it took was Stiles’ hand on her back and Baby’s tears subsided into snuffles and hiccups. One of her tiny fists found a home in Stiles’ sleeve and he gave up on any hope of sleeping in his own bedroom.

He and Derek had to pass Baby back and forth between them so they could get out of their jeans, both because they were still dirty—and, in Derek’s case, bloody—and because sleeping in jeans was a special form of torture. They were lucky the guest room was stocked with a few pairs what were probably Stiles’ uncle’s old pajamas from back when he actually came to stay with them on holidays or they would’ve had to sleep in their underwear and Stiles really didn’t think he could’ve handled that.

It was bad enough just to _ know _ that he was in the same bed as Derek Hale. At least, with Baby in between them, there was no chance of accidental touching. Even with the distance, Stiles still felt a little bit like a live wire, hyperaware of the heat of Derek’s body and the way the creaky old mattress bobbed with every one of Derek’s movements.

“Sorry about this,” Derek murmured a few minutes in, once the lights had been turned off and the last sounds of Stiles’ dad moving around outside had faded.

Stiles kept his voice to a whisper too; Baby’s eyes had just fluttered closed, dark and delicate against her cheek. “Not your fault the kid’s clingy.”

“No, but I’m the one who brought her to you in the first place. If I’d just kept her with me—”

“In the middle of a battle?” Stiles scoffed. “Derek, you’re a hell of a fighter, but not even _ you _ can’t fight four werewolves one-handed with a baby on your hip.”

The mental image was swoon-worthy, though. Not that Stiles would admit to that out loud. He would tuck it away in the vast folder of all the other things about Derek that made him want to swoon like a Victorian maiden, right between “speaks seven languages fluently” and “always uses his turn signal unless being chased by monsters” and “kindly doesn’t mention Stiles’ crush that is probably stupidly obvious to him and his chemosignal-scenting werewolf nose”.

Derek huffed a laugh but couldn’t actually disagree, so for a few minutes there was silence. Or quiet, at least, filled with the rustling of tree branches outside the window, the creak and moan of the old house settling around them, the soft shush of three people breathing. It would’ve been pleasant except for one thing.

“I really have to pee.”

Derek groaned.

“What?” Stiles said, indignant. “I didn’t get to go before Baby started making a fuss!”

“Well, then go now.”

“Not if she’s gonna start crying again.”

“Look at her,” Derek said. “She’s sound asleep!”

Baby was barely more than a lump under the thick covers, pulled all the way up to her chin. Her face was still a little grubby—with how late it was and how skittish she’d been, nobody had wanted to risk trying to give her a real bath—but it was slack and peaceful now, pink cheek nuzzling into the pillow she was currently sharing with Derek.

She hadn’t so much as twitched since they’d started talking over her. And Stiles really, _ really _ needed to pee.

It took him a few minutes to ease his way out of the bed without making it bounce and squeak, sending periodic dirty looks at a very amused Derek. When he finally had both feet on the floor and no part of him touching the bed, he paused for another excruciating ten seconds. There was no immediately resurgence of tears, so Stiles made a run for it.

He briefly entertained the thought of taking this golden opportunity to go back to his own room, but he only made it halfway through his business before the crying started back up. Stiles resisted the urge to bang his head against the bathroom mirror and wondered how the fuck parents put up with this _ all the time. _

And yet, by the time he’d finished washing his hands and brushing his teeth, the crying had stopped. He nudged the guest room door open in tiny, careful increments and peeked in to see Derek sitting up in bed with Baby on his shoulder. Her nose was tucked into his neck, his hand rubbing soothing circles along her back. She was asleep again, but Derek still looked relieved to see Stiles.

“She started fussing as soon as your heartbeat was out of range,” he said with a sigh.

Stiles grimaced. “Sorry.” 

He slid back into the bed as gently as he could, but Baby was out like a light now, nuzzling into Derek’s shoulder just like she had the pillow. She sniffled just a little bit, head turning toward Stiles like she could sense his presence even in sleep, but Derek’s hand was still rubbing and that was more than enough to get her to settle.

“You’re really good with her.”

Stiles didn’t mean for that to come out sounding so surprised, but he _ was _ and there was no hiding it. He’d known Derek for three years now and nothing in all that time had prepared him for _ this. _Sure, he was a lot more bookish than Stiles would have guessed when they first met, and he didn’t resort to violence nearly as often lately as he had at the start, but it was a big jump from not breaking people’s bones anymore to rocking crying babies to sleep.

Derek must have understood, because he didn’t seem offended. A half-smile pulled at his mouth. “I used to do a lot of babysitting,” he said. “Big brother, remember?”

Too late, Stiles _ did _ remember that. He’d read it in the case file he’d stolen from the station, the long list of the people lost in the Hale house fire, practically the whole family from youngest to oldest. Names and ages, all laid out on the page. He’d known—of course, he had Cora’s number in his phone, there was no way for him to forget that Derek was a big brother as well as a younger one—but somehow all that entailed hadn’t really sunk in.

Stiles cleared his throat around the lump that had taken up residence there. “You would’ve been a little young to babysit Cora, wouldn’t you?” he said, because the light from the streetlamp outside the window cast everything in a rosy hue, and Derek’s smile was sad but it was still a _ smile, _ and years-late condolences never did anyone any good anyway. “She’s only six years younger than you.”

“Yeah,” Derek allowed. “But Emmett was ten years younger.”

He didn’t have to explain who that was, though Derek had never mentioned him before. His name had been in the file: _ Emmett Frederic Hale, age 6. _ Stiles had skimmed over that name, and Cora’s, without paying them much heed. At the time, they hadn’t really seemed important, not with everything else going on. Hearing the muted sadness in Derek’s voice now, he wished he’d given those names a little more thought.

“We had cousins, too,” Derek went on, apparently too focused on Baby to notice Stiles’ reaction to his casual words. “I used to watch them when the adults had meetings. Mom always wanted Laura in there with her to teach her how the whole alpha thing worked, so as the next oldest, I sort of ended up the unofficial pack babysitter.”

“Every teenage boy’s dream job.”

Derek’s smile widened. “I didn’t mind, actually.” He shot Stiles a sidelong glance, there and gone in a blink, just a flash of blue through the dark fan of his eyelashes. “I like kids.”

As if that wasn’t obvious from how he’d made no move to dislodge Baby now that she’d stopped needing reassurance. He was perfectly content to have her draped all over him, stubbly cheek against her temple.

“Not gonna lie—” Stiles shook his head. “—kids scare me a little bit.”

Derek’s eyebrow quirked. “Seriously?”

“Only child,” Stiles said, by way of explanation. “I never did the whole ‘babies’ thing. I mean, what do you _ do _ with them? Older kids I can handle! They think I’m awesome and hilarious, thank you very much, but little ones?” He shuddered theatrically. “They don’t get my jokes and I always feel like I’m gonna break them.”

“You didn’t break Baby,” Derek pointed out. “She likes you, jokes or no.”

Suddenly warm in a way that had nothing to do with the blankets, Stiles said, “Yeah, well, she likes you too. So clearly she doesn’t have great taste in men.”

Derek’s laugh was gentle enough that Baby didn’t stir at the motion, and the sound of it settled in Stiles’ chest like a purring cat. Maybe if it hadn’t been four in the morning after a very long and trying day, he could’ve put up some resistance to it, but he was tired enough to acknowledge just how much he wanted to make Derek laugh like that every day.

Tired enough that his brain to mouth filter was not fully operational.

“You’ll make a great dad someday.”

He meant it, even if he hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, and Stiles could tell by the downward flick of Derek’s eyes that he’d heard. The long column of Derek’s throat worked around a swallow, a weighted silence stretching between them.

Baby broke it with a yawn. Little brown eyes opened just far enough to peer blearily at Stiles. She let go of her hold on Derek’s sleeve to make lazy grabby hands at him instead.

Derek cleared his throat. “I guess she wants you now.”

“Yeah, looks like.”

Stiles spared a few seconds to punch his pillows into a comfortable incline and wriggle his way into an acceptable sleeping position, then waved a hand in invitation. With obvious reluctance, Derek lifted Baby off of his own shoulder and settled her down on Stiles’ chest. She was heavy for such a small thing, lax and warm, and she immediately buried her face in Stiles’ neck like she’d done to Derek’s earlier. Seeking out his scent, if Stiles had to guess. He’d long harbored suspicions about necks being big things where scent was concerned, though none of the werewolves had confirmed it for him yet.

“Like I said,” he muttered around the hair that was suddenly in his mouth. “Terrible taste in men.”

“No worse than mine, apparently.”

Stiles paused in his attempts to escape the hair without dislodging the child it was attached to, tongue halfway out of his mouth in what was probably a very unattractive manner. “Wait, what?”

The lump that was Baby blocked half of Stiles’ field of vision, so there was no way to see Derek’s face in the beat that followed that question. Then the bed squeaked as Derek shifted.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nevermind.”

“No!” Stiles said immediately. “No, no nevermind! What did you—”

“It was nothing,” Derek insisted. “Just go to sleep, Stiles.”

He moved even further and the bed dipped in his direction like he was sitting on the edge, like he might actually get up and walk away. Blindly, Stiles flung out his arm, groping around the blankets in the hope of finding some part of Derek to grab onto. He came up empty—probably because he couldn’t see what he was doing, damn it, this whole sleeping baby thing was very inconvenient.

“Wait, Derek, just—” He made a noise of frustration, waving his hand frantically in the open air. “Just come back here, okay? Please? I would chase after you but I’ve got a baby on me and I can’t move, so you have to come back.”

Stiles held his breath until he heard Derek’s sigh. Then the bed was squeaking again, shifting under Derek’s weight as he reappeared in Stiles’ sight. He was braced on one elbow, leaning over Stiles in a way that at any other time would’ve made Stiles’ brain run wild with inappropriate fantasies, but right now his head was down and his cheeks were pink and Stiles only had one thought in his head.

“What did you mean by that? And _ don’t _say nothing.”

Derek’s open mouth shut with a click of teeth and his face went a little pinker. He reached up to scratch at one eyebrow with his thumbnail. When his hand fell, it came to rest on Baby’s back, an added weight that Stiles could feel against his chest. The contact seemed to steady Derek, enough for him to meet Stiles’ eyes directly.

“I think you know what I meant.”

Stiles’ mouth was dry and his heart clogging up his throat as he said, “Since when?”

Derek shrugged as best he could in his position. “A while.”

“Okay, but _ why? _”

That earned him an eye-roll, but also a laugh. Derek tapped a finger against Baby’s back and said, “She may not appreciate your sense of humor yet, but I do.”

A grin found its way onto Stiles’ face, wide and irresistible. “Yeah? You think I’m funny?”

Derek pursed his lips, but the stubborn dimple in his cheek gave away how much he wanted to smile too. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“God, I wanna kiss you so bad right now,” Stiles said in a rush. “I would kiss you but there’s a baby on me and I can’t sit up.”

Luckily, there was nothing impeding _ Derek’s _ movements. He had to be careful not to squish Baby between them when he leaned in, and it wasn’t much more than a lingering press of lips, but it was better than anything Stiles had ever let himself imagine. Probably because it was _ real. _ He was actually being kissed by Derek, right here in reality, and that fact was almost too much for his sleep-deprived brain to process.

Derek’s nose bumped against his, a gentle touch that made its way across his cheek and along the line of his jaw, finally tucking into that soft, vulnerable spot right behind his ear. Stiles shuddered; it felt _ entirely _ different when Derek did that than when Baby did.

“We should sleep,” Derek murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of Stiles’ ear in the best way. “Deaton thought he had a lead on Baby’s parents. If he’s right, they could be here as soon as tomorrow afternoon.”

Stiles turned his head enough to catch Derek’s lips with his again, just because he could. “You mean today afternoon? It’s practically morning already.”

“Which is why we should _ sleep,_” Derek reiterated.

Stiles almost protested when Derek pulled away from him, but Derek didn’t go far. With a little maneuvering, he managed to transfer himself to Stiles’ other side, the one relatively free of toddler. He only hesitated a little bit before he slipped under the blankets and pushed in close to slide his arm around Stiles’ waist.

“This okay?”

Sharing a pillow now, he was close enough for his breath to ghost over Stiles’ cheek. Close enough to kiss. So Stiles did. Twice, because he _ could. _ Derek indulged him easily enough, though when his eyes slipped closed, they stayed that way. His day had been even longer and more exhausting than Stiles’ had been, so Stiles couldn’t blame him for it. His own eyelids were starting to droop, despite how much he wanted to stay in this moment.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, fighting a yawn. “Yeah, this is perfect.”

Derek’s arm tightened around him. Stiles wasn’t sure if that was a deliberate response to his statement or if Derek was already asleep and just a cuddler by nature, but it hardly mattered. Surrounded as he was by warmth, the pull of sleep was a lot harder to resist.

As another yawn overtook him, Stiles reminded himself that Derek would still be there in the morning. Baby would be going home soon, for better or for worse, but Derek wasn’t going anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable on tumblr!](https://clotpolesonly.tumblr.com/post/186921095126/you-and-me-baby-makes-three)


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